Equipment
by T.J. Lauren
Summary: Experts Peter and Charley display the proper, and not so proper, use of the standard gadgets, objects, implements, items, props, gizmos, toys, gear, things, and tools of a vampire hunter. Warning: Professional Hunters at work, do not attempt at home.
1. Flamethrower

**Title:** Flamethrower

**Word Count:** 1039

**Disclaimer: **Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie

**Warnings/Rating:** M for language, violence, sexual content, and adult themes.

**Author's Note:** There's no big overreaching plot to these... they're just some silly little bits and pieces about the boys and their toys. Most of them aren't enough to make up a proper story or anything. I might end up incorporating some of these snippets into longer fics, I dunno. Enjoy!

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><p>"Peter," Charley said, trying to remain calm, "What do we do?" He heard Peter shifting next to him and tried not to look at him. He did not want to let the bloodsuckers that had them cornered out of his sight for even a second - they were just waiting for an opportunity like that. He leaned closer to Peter, trying to catch a peripheral glimpse of what he was doing.<p>

When he realized Peter had merely reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask, Charley almost lowered his crossbow to turn and give his alcoholic hunting partner an incredulous stare. He caught himself in time, though, and instead tightened his grip on his weapon, eyes still locked on the swarm of vampires blocking their only escape.

"Now?" Charley spluttered, completely aghast, "You're really going to do this now?"

"Charley," Peter answered, and for once, his voice was calm and steady, "Just shut up, and get behind me."

Charley froze. Peter had never put himself between Charley and a vampire before. He followed behind him, stood back to back, or, most often, they stood side by side, but he had never, ever had enough nerve to try and shield Charley. The fact that the older man was willing to help him hunt at all was enough for Charley - he would never ask Peter for more than his friend could give. He understood Peter far too well for that.

Peter pulled something small and metallic out of his pocket, shuffling forwards while pushing the teen back. The vampires circled closer, hissing with laughter, and Charley had the sudden horrible thought that Peter was planning to sacrifice himself, to give Charley a chance to escape. He opened his mouth to protest. Peter took a swig.

A massive fireball erupted in front of them. Charley jumped back with a startled yell, almost falling to the ground behind Peter. He could hear the vampires shrieking as they caught fire, could see them scrambling away from the heat and light.

Peter turned, his face lit orange by the small flame he held in his hand. Charley only caught the briefest glimpse of Peter's lighter before the illusionist leaned forward to spew another mouthful of fire at the retreating bloodsuckers.

"Peter, what the fuck?" Charley swore, eyes wide with shock.

The magician did not even glance at him. Sweat beaded on his brow, and the subtle lines on his face had deepened in concentration. He drew another mouthful of whatever was in the flask and sprayed it back out over the lighter. This time, Charley watched as the tiny flame caught and exploded, turning the spray of liquid into a searing inferno, and a manic grin spread across the teen's face as the scene finally registered. "Oh, you fucking genius," he said.

The leader of the vampires stood back against the wall, just out of reach of Peter's fire-breathing. He glared at the two hunters, his back arched like a snake ready to strike.

Peter's eyes locked onto the monster and, for possibly the first time Charley had ever seen, he took a deliberate step towards a bloodsucker. For once, he didn't look like he was about to shit himself from fear; he looked determined, calm, focused.

He held the light out, the flask close to his mouth. "Crossbow or stake gun would be great anytime now, Charley," he said, and the strain in his voice made him recognizable again.

It suddenly occurred to Charley that he ought to stop staring like a mindless idiot and help out. He stepped forwards by Peter's elbow and raised his crossbow, taking careful aim.

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><p>After a brief firefight, the vamps were either dust or had retreated enough for the hunters to escape the nest. After stumbling a decent distance from the building, careful to head deep into the shelter of the sun, the two finally paused for breath. Charley let his crossbow dangle down by his side, turning to measure the distance left between them and their car. Peter was bent over almost double, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. He squinted up at Charley through his fringe.<p>

"That's it," he said, "when we get home, I'm going on E-bay and I'm buying us a bloody flamethrower." He moaned and collapsed at Charley's feet.

At first, Charley thought Peter had passed out, and his heart leaped into his throat as he imagined what sort of dreadful injury Peter may have suffered without Charley realizing. The more cynical and practical part of him pointed out that the idiot may have just fainted from the shock.

Then Peter's chest twitched, and he could hear a stifled, hysterical giggle from under the arm Peter had thrown over his face.

Charley grinned and flopped down in the street next to Peter, soaking in the warmth of the Nevada sun. "What the hell is in that flask?"

Peter passed him the flagon, gasping for breath. Charley took an experimental whiff and jerked his head back with a grimace. "Fwhoohf! That is nasty. Tell me you don't drink that," he begged.

Peter let out a groan and shook his head. "Naw, that'd probably poison me. S'meant for fire-breathing tricks, not for boozing. Used it for the show a year or so back. Handy, innit?" He lifted his hand from his brow just enough to roll one brown eye in Charley's direction, a grin making his crow's feet stand out.

"Yeah," Charley returned the goofy smile, and after a beat, the two of them were laughing again, caught up in the sheer relief that came with their victory.

After a minute, Peter rolled up onto his feet with a groan, stretching his back out with a grimace. Charley quirked an eyebrow when the older man's spine cracked rather spectacularly. Peter offered him a hand and Charley clasped it tight, letting his friend pull him up. "We're going to have to go finish off the rest, or they'll be tracking us down after sunset," Peter said, the humor slipping from his face.

"Well then," Charley said, heading for where their car was parked just down the street, "We should go reload and re-arm ourselves and get back to work."

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><p>End<p>

There will be more little shortfics coming every now and then, whenever I get something that fits the bill.

EDIT: 3-2-12 Did some revisions on some of the wording and sentence structure. Nothing major, just trying to lower my adverb count, because DAMN.


	2. New Toys

**Story 02:** New Toys

**Word Count:** 1845

**Disclaimer: **Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie

**Warnings/Rating:** T for language, sexual content, and adult themes.

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><p>"…Oh my god, I love you."<p>

"Aw, Charley, that's so sweet!" he could hear the shit-eating grin in Peter's voice and felt his stomach drop out. Surely he hadn't just said that aloud? "I love you too!" the magician squealed, throwing his arms around him.

All poor Charley could do was flush to his toes and splutter incoherently. Sometimes, he really wished he could keep his mouth shut. He really hadn't intended to say anything, but when Peter presented him, not with a brand new motorbike, but with every part and tool he would possibly need to fix his own beloved-but-battered piece of junk, the words just slipped out. And he promptly found himself with an armful of cackling, sarcastic, half-drunk magician.

And then, Peter kissed him, full on the mouth _(again!)_. And _(this time)_ Charley kissed him back. And maybe his tongue slipped out a bit, just for a taste _(melon and cloves and...)_

But he really didn't mean to do it.

_(Except he maybe kinda did.)_

And then, Peter pulled away with a look of sheer triumph on his face, and there was humour there, and mild pleasure. The magician grinned and ruffled his hair. "You're too cute, kiddo. Enjoy your new toys." And he sauntered away, lighting up a cigarette on his way out.

Charley still wasn't sure exactly what just happened.

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><p>A few hours later found Peter wandering back into the garage. The cigarette had been replaced with a glass of midori, and <em>(oh, no)<em> he looked bored. "How's it coming?" he asked, taking a sip.

Charley's hand slipped and he banged his knuckles against the motor, hard. He gasped in pain and snatched his hand back, swearing as he tried to shake it off.

"That good, eh?" Peter said sardonically. Charley shot him a dirty look. "Maybe I can help?"

"No!" Charley said quickly, knowing that 'help' would likely entail distraction, and/or probably would end up destroying the little progress he'd made so far. "No, it's okay, I got it. Just… sit, or something."

Peter shrugged, looking mildly disappointed. "'Kay… well, just let me know, alright?" He drained his glass and set it on the floor, then swung his leg over the motorcycle and settled down on the seat, resting his hands on the handle bars.

Charley reared back and tried to protest. "Wha - no, Peter, I didn't mean on the motorcycle!"

"Well where else am I supposed to sit? It's not like you have any fucking chairs laying about," Peter sniffed and looked down his nose at Charley where he was sitting on the floor.

Charley sighed and rolled his eyes. "Peter, come on, I'm trying to work here!"

"It's fine! Look, I'm not in the way." Peter slid his foot back so that Charley had clear access to the motor. "You've been working for hours anyways. Aren't you bored yet?"

Charley shook his head and resolved himself to ignoring Peter. "Nope." He turned his attention back to the part he was working on. He almost had it done; hopefully the motorbike would run perfectly once it was finished.

Peter, thankfully, fell silent, and just sat, slumped over the handlebars of the motor bike with his head resting on his elbow. He watched Charley work, humming something to himself quietly.

After ten minutes or so, Charley sat back on his heels and sighed. "Hope that got it this time," he murmured, wiping the back of his wrist over his forehead.

"Shall I give it a go, then?" Peter asked, sitting upright and reaching a hand towards the key where it was stuck in the ignition.

"Yeah, just rev the engine a little," Charley said, pointing at the handlebar where the accelerator control was. "I just want to hear how it sounds. It was making this god-awful choking sound earlier, but I think -"

As he spoke, Peter dutifully turned the key and twisted the handlebar a bit, and the teen stopped mid-sentence while the engine roared and spluttered like a sick lion cub. Charley's face fell. "Dammit! I could've sworn… what's wrong with you?" He leaned forward, eyeing the motor as close as he could.

"Feels pretty good to me," Peter said in a sort of dreamy voice. His face looked sort of dreamy too, when Charley looked up at him sharply. He frowned bemusedly. Peter turned his head down to face him and grinned lasciviously. He spread his legs a little wider, wiggling his hips and settling himself more firmly on the motorcycle seat.

Charley blinked. He looked at Peter. He looked at the motorcycle, vibrating with the running motor. Peter revved the engine again and let out a dirty little moan.

"Dude!" Charley yelped and jumped to his feet, annoyed (but also trying not to laugh). "Get the hell off my bike, you pervert!"

Peter laughed and turned the engine off, obediently climbing off and patting Charley on the cheek. "You need a break, Charley," he said, grinning.

Charley stared into Peter's warm, mahogany eyes and shook his head. "You are completely ridiculous sometimes, you know that?"

"Oh, only sometimes?" Peter's eyebrows rose. "Suppose I'll have to fix that."

Before Charley could make his own comeback, Peter took a step forward, gripped his upper arms and pulled him into a searing kiss. He squeaked slightly, flinching just a bit from the sudden movement, before relaxing. This time, despite the surprise of the spontaneous kissing, he was more than prepared to kiss back.

His hands came up to settle on Peter's waist, and he pushed himself up on tiptoes, deepening what was already a damn good kiss. Peter made a soft sound in his throat, and didn't that just send chills up and down Charley's spine?

He pulled back briefly for air, and opened his eyes halfway, hoping to see what Peter was thinking; the man's face was an open book.

Peter's mouth was curled into a catlike smile, and he was watching Charley affectionately. Charley felt himself flushing, and leaned back in, wanting another kiss, but still a little hesitant.

Peter wrenched himself away, leaving Charley standing forlornly by the bike. "Come find me when you're done playing!" he called over his shoulder.

Charley wanted very badly to kick his toolbox in frustration, but restrained himself. Instead, he took Peter's favorite venting route and swore vividly.

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><p>Charley buried himself in his repair work. He was NOT going to let Peter distract him. Nope, not him. Unlike certain spoiled Vegas showmen, Charley had an attention span longer than that of a goldfish. He didn't have to go looking for Peter.<p>

He also didn't have too long to wait this time before Peter, once again, grew bored. Only a half hour had passed this time before the magician meandered back into the garage. Unfortunately, Charley was so busy concentrating hard on his bike and pointedly not going to look for Peter that he lost track of everything else going on around him.

"Charley! Almost forgot!"

The cheery shout startled Charley into knocking into the precariously balanced motorcycle, and he flinched as it started to fall. The anticipated crash never came, though, and Charley looked up to see strong, elegant hands wrapped tightly around the handlebars.

"Whoa, careful there, Charley!" Peter said, flashing him a toothy grin. "Thought you were trying to fix her up, not trash what's left."

Charley shot him a glare. "Don't scare me like that, you ass."

Peter laughed. "Me? Scary? Charley, do you or do you not hunt vampires on a nightly basis?"

Charley turned his attention back to the transmission he was working on. He was not going to stare at the man's mouth. He wasn't. He _wasn't_, really. "With you clinging to me like a baby sloth," he sniffed.

Peter shrugged, pooching out his lip. "Worse things to be compared to, I suppose."

"You said you forgot something?" Charley asked mildly, glancing up at him _(that mouth, dear god, that mouth…)_.

Peter smacked his fist into his palm. "Yes! Right!" His face froze, his eyebrows raised as his gaze flicked over the ceiling. "…I forget what it was. But it'll come to me!"

Charley shook his head, partly to clear his head of the Peter's-mouth-related fantasy it was threatening to wander off into, and partly at Peter himself. "Hand me that, would you?" he asked, his voice fond.

Peter crouched down and picked up the tool pointed out to him, offering it to Charley. The teen grabbed it without looking, but when Peter didn't let go, he tilted his head back to meet the older man's gaze. "What?" he said suspiciously.

Peter grinned and put one knee down on the ground, leaning in so that their faces were only an inch or so apart. Charley held himself very still and resisted the urge to look at Peter's lips so close to his. Peter's smile widened slightly, making the laugh-lines around his eyes deepen.

"Nothing," he said, "Nothing really…just…" he trailed off, his eyes wandering over Charley's face fondly. He brought his free hand up to cradle Charley's jaw, running one lightly callused thumb over the teen's cheekbone.

Charley was caught, hypnotized, just waiting for another kiss that he was sure was coming any minute now. The tool slipped out from between their hands as their fingers tangled together, ringing against the cement floor of the garage.

Peter hummed and tilted his head, pulled Charley close and finally, finally, he kissed him. The kiss was light, chaste, and he pulled back after only a moment, staring at Charley with half-lidded eyes.

Charley didn't wait for a second kiss this time.

"Dammit Peter, will you stop teasing?" he snapped. Then he fisted one hand in Peter's shirt collar and yanked him down into a full-bodied kiss. He didn't wait for Peter to take control and didn't wait for permission. He just slipped his tongue into that taunting mouth, tasting his friend, exploring him, wrestling his tongue into compliance until all Peter could do was allow Charley to dominate him and make _(oh god, amazingly hot)_ pleasured sounds that started deep in his chest and rumbled through his throat.

"Damn you," Charley said against Peter's mouth, hardly able to pull himself away long enough to get the words out. "Trying to distract me." His hand eased its grip on Peter's shirt, slipping up and around to cradle the back of Peter's head. Charley's fingers tangled in Peter's hair and pulled him in closer, finding a new angle and moaning into it.

Peter kissed him back hungrily, his free hand roaming over Charley's body like he wasn't sure where he wanted to touch. Charley shuddered, feeling magician's fingers first lighting on his hip, then sliding up across his chest, over his shoulder and up his neck and back down to fiddle with the end of his shirt and slip under that cloth barrier. "Are you," Peter murmured into Charley's mouth between kisses, "Complaining?" His hand squeezed Charley's, white-knuckled fingers pressing their palms together tight as they could possibly be.

_(Not really, no)_.


	3. Coax

**Story 03:** Coax

**Word Count:** 200

**Disclaimer: **Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie

**Warnings/Rating:** T for implied sexual content and adult themes.

**Author's Note:** Okay… so this isn't really vampire hunting equipment… but technically, neither was the motorcycle. I'm just going to call any and all props fair game for these.

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><p>"Do I look like a girl to you?"<p>

An elegantly arched eyebrow accompanied the derisive response. "What, and you think _I'm_ a girl, is that it?" Peter set down the pot of white powder and gripped Charley's waist, tugging him in close so that their hips fit together. "I assure you that's not the case."

Charley shifted, trying for a little more friction, and Peter's black painted lips curled into a grin. "Come on, luv. It's not like I'm asking you to put on a dress or anything."

"Yet," Charley said, leaning away from that smirk so he wouldn't give into the temptation to kiss him.

"It's just a little eyeliner," Peter pleaded.

"A _little_? You look like a raccoon."

"Do not!" Black lips pouted, black rimmed eyes widened in offense. "Please, Charley? I know you like it on me." He ground forward, grinning and quirking an eyebrow when Charley hissed. "You can't hide that. So just think…"

Charley could just feel the slight stickiness of the lipstick as Peter murmured low and seductive against his mouth, could smell the foundation and powder on Peter's whitened skin. "Just think… if you wear some, then what will it do to _me_?"


	4. The Art of Ruining a Proper Good Sulk

**Story 04:** The Art of Ruining a Proper Good Sulk

**Word Count:** 2284 (full version is 2799)

**Disclaimer: **Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie

**Warnings/Rating:** M for language, sexual content and adult themes.

**Author's Note:** THIS IS A CENSORED VERSION. I felt that the complete version is too graphic for the content rules here at ffnet. Sorry, I know it sucks, but I don't feel like getting in trouble with the management. The page break lines in the middle of the story mark where scenes were cut. The full, gloriously smutty version is posted at my LiveJournal account, which you can find a link to in my profile. You do have to be of age (18+) in order to access the page.

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><p>The sun was hurting his eyes, making Peter half-wish he'd chosen a better spot to brood. He was on the floor in front of the large window in the great room, leaning against the back of his favourite armchair with his knees drawn up to his chest. Despite the cool draft from the air conditioning, he felt like his skin was burning where the light touched his arms and his face and his bare toes. A lingering ghost pain, he figured, from almost-but-not-quite turning. He would've moved, but with the mood he was in, he rather liked the sting of it just then.<p>

Peter lifted his clove cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. He held it as long as he could, then blew out a stream of smoke to glance off the glass, making a halo around the sun sinking past the desert hills. He wondered, if the sun was burning, why one never saw it smoke? It was a rather misleading illusion.

The elevator dinged in the front hall, and he listened to the doors sliding open and shut. Soft footsteps followed, becoming impossibly loud as they echoed through the penthouse. Charley, probably. Coming over after his last class of the day at LVSU. Little fucker.

The steps continued into Peter's enormous sitting room and paused, sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished floors. "Peter? You here?"

Peter winced and slouched lower. He hoped Charley would go away and leave him to his clove-flavored nicotine and misery. The last thing he wanted right now was company, especially that of some stupid kid playing at vampire hunter and, for whatever ungodly reason, turning Peter into his pet project for humanity. He'd probably grow bored soon enough; everyone did, eventually. Peter would just as soon head him off.

Almost immediately he felt guilty for the uncharitable thought. Charley was a good kid; probably one of the best people Peter knew. But then, he was feeling rather resentful of good people at the moment. He swiftly quashed the stroke of regret and let the bitterness fester.

The footsteps started again, sounding less echo-y and more solid as they came closer to his hiding spot. He heard Charley's backpack and motorcycle helmet land on the floor. The leather chair behind him creaked and shifted slightly as a certain skinny teenager made himself comfortable in _Peter's_ chair, goddammit. As if he hadn't already claimed the chair opposite Peter's as his months ago. Peter chewed on his fag and glowered at the silhouetted city below.

"Peter?" he heard over his head. He took the cigarette between two fingers and tilted his head back, locking eyes with Charley, who was peeking over the back of the chair at him. "What are you doing back there?" Charley asked curiously. He had a soft, exasperated smile on his face.

Peter's neck was already staring to complain, so he stopped craning his head back and turned his attention back to the last few minutes of sunlight. The last few minutes of relative safety. He took another drag. "Fuck off."

"Whoa, dude, what was that for?" Charley replied.

"That was for _fuck. off._ Charley."

The leather upholstery creaked again, and Peter turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse over the back of the chair of brown curls moving up and around. He turned his head the other way, following Charley's movements. The teen came around the armchair and crouched down next to him. "What's wrong, Peter?" Charley asked, all concerned blue eyes and clean white hands and rumpled plaid shirt.

Peter moodily stubbed out his cigarette on the floor. "Leave it, kid." Why was Charley still hanging around? Didn't he get into enough trouble on his own, without tagging along and catching half of Peter's?

Charley eyed him a moment longer, then stood. He disappeared behind the chair again, and Peter felt him settle back into it. The illusionist slumped hard against the leather and stared out the window and cursed himself for putting out his cigarette.

"So I have a question for you, Peter," he heard through the chair.

Peter sighed. "Charley, seriously, I'm not in the mood. Just go."

Charley ignored him, and Peter would have admired his stubbornness had it not been so annoying. Was it really so much to ask to be left alone for a proper good sulk? "I was talking with some of the guys at school between classes," he said, punctuated by Peter's sighing, "and somehow or other, we ended up talking about vampires."

"How shocking," Peter said dully.

"Hey, I didn't bring it up. I came into the middle of the conversation, actually."

"Fascinating."

"Actually," Charley said, "It was kind of interesting, because they were talking about how to properly kill a vamp."

Peter stuck the half-burnt fag back between his teeth, chewing the end. "And did you tell them how you lit yourself up like the Human Torch and gave your neighbor a bear hug before skewering him on a chunk of wood?" he snarked.

Charley snorted, but he didn't really sound that amused. "No, I left that out. But anyways, we were talking, and here's my question: Could you, theoretically, stake a vampire with a carrot?"

Peter nearly swallowed his cigarette and swiveled around to stare incredulously at Charley's hand on the armrest, the only part of his young friend he could see. "Eh?"

Charley turned in the chair, his face peeking around the back to look seriously at Peter. "Could you stake a vampire with a carrot?" he asked again, completely serious and straight-faced.

Peter realized he was gaping at Charley and quickly schooled his expression into something a little more dignified. "…Why the fuck would you attempt to stake a vampire with a carrot?" he turned around again, resting his head back against the chair. "As if they aren't hard enough to kill."

"No, but… wood is plant material, and so are carrots. They have the right shape and about the right size and they're fairly solid." Jesus. Stupid kid actually talked like he'd given this some thought.

Peter resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in chagrin. "Charley, you've staked vampires before. You know exactly how difficult it is to drive a bit of wood through muscle and bone all the way to the heart. If you try to stab someone with a carrot, all you're going to do is break the carrot. And maybe, if you're lucky, give them a bruise."

"I'm not saying it's a practical idea. But could it be done?"

Peter shook his head, raising his hands in frustration before letting them slap back down onto the floor. "How the fuck should I know? I've never been stupid enough to try it."

Silence fell, and Peter let himself relax. Hopefully Charley had grown bored and would -

"But _theoretically_…"

"_Theoretically_, Charley, if you ever attempt to stake a vampire with a carrot, I'm disowning you as a hunting partner."

Charley laughed softly. "Alright, alright, carrots are out." He paused, then said, "So if carrots are out-" Peter groaned, but Charley ignored him, "Then obviously there are some actually practical restrictions on what you can use to stake them."

Peter shook his head. "Obviously," he said sarcastically, then sighed and gave up hope of ending the conversation without first satisfying Charley's curiosity. "The best stakes should be made of a hardwood of some kind. Yes, it's all plant material, but the difference in density and composition does affect the results. And don't ask me for specifics, because I don't fucking know, alright? I'm not a fucking botanist."

"What if it's silver-tipped, or something?" Charley asked.

"Silver's for werewolves, Charley," Peter reminded him, "Won't do a fucking thing to a vampire." Peter pushed himself up a little straighter, arching his back to get the kinks out. "According to some traditions, the only wood you should use is aspen or ash. Some sort of religious context, Christ's cross, or something like that. But as far as I know, any kind of wood will do, it's just hardwoods are less likely to break before you can stake the suckers."

Peter glanced over at the bar, wondering if Charley would bring him his Midori if he asked nicely. …On the other hand, being nice was overrated. "Are you done bitching at me about stakes now?" he snapped grumpily.

"Depends," Charley answered. "Are you done being a bitch yet?"

"No," Peter said petulantly. He ran his hand through his hair. "Charley, would you please just leave already? I'm really fucking not good company, in case you hadn't noticed yet."

There was a long silence, and then he heard behind him, "I'm not going anywhere, Peter." The voice was so soft, and so layered with meaning, that Peter wondered for a moment if he'd imagined it.

"Jesus, kid," Peter muttered, then said louder, "Give it a rest would you? You're ruining a proper good sulk here."

"I know," Charley replied, and this time Peter could hear the smug smile in his voice.

He hesitated only a moment before finally pulling himself to his feet and stomping around the chair to face that smug smile dead on. He leaned down, his hands clamping onto the armrests and trapping the younger man in his seat.

Charley just looked up at him, seeming amused, damn him. Peter growled and kissed him.

He felt Charley's lips curve against his own into a smile. He kissed him harder, pushing him back into the smooth leather. Charley's arms came up to loop around his neck, draping over Peter's narrow shoulders so softly it was like he thought the magician might break if he held him too tightly.

Peter tried to deepen the kiss, to make it sloppy and rough the way he wanted it right now. Charley seemed to have other ideas; he eased back, but didn't pull away entirely, so that their lips were barely touching.

Annoyed, Peter broke off the far-too-chaste kiss entirely and gave another possessive growl. Charley laughed, and Peter's temper flickered a little hotter. He hoisted himself up onto the chair, straddling Charley's lap and grinding down.

Charley hummed appreciatively. Peter looked down at him, matching the teen's victorious little smirk with a glare. "Shut the fuck up," Peter muttered before kissing him again.

Charley raised his hips as best as he could with a lap full of aggressively horny magician. A filthy moan came rumbling up out of his chest, and Peter seized the opportunity to slip his tongue into Charley's mouth, bringing the fight for dominance into even closer quarters.

Except Charley didn't even seem to be trying to fight him. His hands slid up into Peter's hair, stroking soothingly at his scalp, then ghosting back down over the nape of his neck, making him shudder. He turned the kiss slow and deep and gentle without Peter even realizing it. The magician was too swept away by sensation, savoring Charley's taste, the feel of that leanly muscled body pressing up against his rhythmically, the gentle touch of Charley's fingers lazily stroking behind his ear.

He was startled out of this haze by Charley drawing back again, disentangling their tongues. Peter blinked unfocused eyes only to close them again with a soft moan; Charley was tracing the sharp line of his jaw back to his earlobe, nibbling at it. Then his hands were sliding up under the hem of Peter's t-shirt while he mouthed his neck.

* * *

><p>Peter was not accustomed to the sort of romance Charley was into. He was used to hard and fast and rough, backstage blowjobs and showgirls who would do damn near anything in the hopes of a little more attention from the star of the show. Charley was young yet, keen and enthusiastic, but used to caring and slow and sweet. It turned Peter on far more than he'd thought it ever would whenever that gentle attention was all focused on him, as it was now.<p>

Peter was demanding in his kisses, wanting to get lost in Charley and forget, for what little time he could steal, everything else in the world but this young man. Charley met him eagerly, submitting but not giving in, his hands roaming up under Peter's shirt again. Peter half-wanted him to grip his waist tighter, to leave finger-shaped bruises that he would no doubt grin apologetically at later when Peter fussed over having to make sure they couldn't be seen during his show. But this was nice too, tender touches drawing him just a little closer.

* * *

><p>Spent, Charley slumped back against the chair, slouching down in exhaustion. Peter curled over him, tucking his head under Charley's chin. He pressed his ear against his lover's chest, closing his eyes and counting out that strong heartbeat pounding away, counting out each deep breath filling his lungs. Charley's hands were moving over his back in slow soothing circles; he felt Charley shift above him, pressing a kiss into his hair. He smiled faintly.<p>

After a nice long minute of simply sitting curled up together, Peter pulled away, sitting up straight. His eyes wandered over Charley's face, lingering on the smile in his eyes and the rosy color of his lips. He combed his fingers through Charley's hair, pushing damp curls back from his forehead.

One of Charley's hands slid up his spine to cradle the back of his head, drawing him in close. "Feeling better?" Charley murmured against his mouth. He kissed him lazily.

Peter let himself enjoy the slow, messy kiss, then drew away. He leaned his forehead against the teen's, looked him directly in the eye for a moment, then said affectionately, "Fuck off, Charley."

* * *

><p><strong>Once More, Lest You Forget: <strong>THIS IS A CENSORED VERSION. I felt that the complete version is too graphic for the content rules here at ffnet. Sorry, I know it sucks, but I don't feel like getting in trouble with the management. The page break lines in the middle of the story mark where scenes were cut. The full, gloriously smutty version is posted at my LiveJournal account, which you can find a link to in my profile. You do have to be of age (18+) in order to access the page.


	5. Let It Be

**Story 05:** Let It Be

**Word Count:** 2629

**Disclaimer: **Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie. Lyrics © The Beatles.

**Warnings/Rating:** T for language, implied sexual content and adult themes.

**Author's Note:** WHY CAN'T I STOP WRITING THESE? Seriously, I have like 10-15 proper stories with actual plots I should be working on, but I keep coming back to these. This fic was never intended to be serious… more of a writer's guilty pleasure/stockpile of silly images and conversations that won't leave my head and lead nowhere. AND THEY ARE TAKING OVER.

Another non-vampire killing item - because with ceilings that high, Peter's penthouse is just BEGGING for something like this. Also with bonus Amy, because the girl doesn't get enough love. Amy's good for this kind of thing; she's a simple character, with a simple purpose. I think that's part of why I'm so fond of her; good characters don't always need to be complicated, and being simple doesn't mean they are weak or entirely one-dimensional. More love for Amy and the other minor figures, people! Come on!

* * *

><p>The elevator dinged open, and Peter stepped into the suite ahead of him, still bitching at Charley over his shoulder. "I'm telling you, garden clippers won't work! They are far too fucking big!"<p>

"No dude, trust me, Adam and I tried it once, and it worked out fine!"

Peter rolled his eyes and growled in frustration at him. They had been arguing during the entire long elevator ride up over a subject so inane, Charley was not even sure it could be considered a subject anymore. Many of their conversations seemed to steer in that direction, but it was fun to have someone to bullshit and be totally ridiculous with again.

Peter wheeled around so he was walking backwards, opening his mouth to continue their debate. Then he froze midstep, a look of confusion sweeping over his face. Charley was following so closely he barely had time to stop himself from crashing into Peter. "Dude, what?" he said in annoyance.

Peter shushed him, his eyes wandering over the ceiling. Charley started to say something else, but then an odd sound filtered through the entry hall to his ears. "You hear that?" Peter asked, his voice pitching higher in bemusement.

The two of them paused to listen. An odd, rhythmic, creaking noise was echoing through the penthouse. Charley's face twisted into a strange frown. "Did you have friends coming by or something?" he asked. After a beat, he added on "Maybe some friends that happen to be really horny?" He seriously would not put it past any friends of Peter's to have a tumble in the magician's bed sheets. Hell, he wouldn't put it past Peter to join in their amorous activities.

Peter shook his head distractedly. "Naw, it's coming from the great room." he said, and turned on his heel, hurrying past the glass collection cabinets towards the portal at the end of the entry hall. Charley followed close behind, nervousness and experience making his muscles tense and adrenaline start to flow. The two came through the open doorway and stopped short at the sight in front of them.

Amy was smiling broadly, her golden curls flying around her face and arms and legs flailing madly as she bounced again and again.

"Peter?" Charley asked, "When did you get a giant trampoline?"

"I'd like to find that out myself," he said, moving closer. The giant leather chairs, couches, and tables nearest the bar had been pushed back against walls and windows, the cowhide rugs rolled up neatly and sitting at their feet. In the open space left behind was a family-size trampoline, jostling with every landing and subsequent bounce Amy made.

"Hi guys!" Amy said, waving at them cheerfully as she continued to jump around, her skirt flying up around her legging-covering hips.

Peter grinned, sauntering over to lean against the edge of the trampoline. "Having fun, luv?" he asked, amused.

She nodded and bounced over to the edge, easing the force of her jumps until she was left standing on the unstable surface, still rocking up and down gently. "Coming up?" she asked, offering a hand to the magician.

His grin widened even further, and he smacked his hand into hers. "You know it!" he said. She laughed and pulled, helping him clamber up. He paused on the edge just long enough to tug off his boots and socks and chuck them carelessly onto the couch. Then he rolled over and crawled to the center of the trampoline. He looked back over his shoulder at the teen still standing on the floor. "Coming Charley?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Charley shook his head. "You two…" he started to say, but the sentence trailed off without going anywhere. "Where did this even come from?" he asked, following Peter's footsteps to take the magician's place leaning against the edge.

Their older friend stood up and shrugged. "Probably E-bay. I told you, sometimes I order random things when I'm drunk and can't sleep." He started bouncing in place. Amy giggled and started jumping again in counterpoint to Peter, the two of them using each other's weight to add height and momentum to their own leaping into the air.

"I figured it was something like that," Amy mentioned, "It came not long after I got here. I signed for it and the delivery guys offered to set it up for us. Tommy and Joe. They were really nice!"

Peter stopped bounding around the edges for a moment to send a pout her way. "Delivery guys never set things up for me," he whined, "And I actually pay them!"

Amy stuck her tongue out at him, and Charley laughed. "Yeah, but you're not a cute teenage girl, Peter."

"Oi!" Peter snapped, jabbing a finger at Charley, "I can be cute if I want!"

"Dude, cute male magician is still never going to get as far as cute teenage girl will with a bunch of delivery men," Charley reminded him patiently.

Peter shrugged and pooched out his lip. "S'pose your right, mate." He started jumping again, moving to the middle of the canvas and bouncing as high as he could. The magician laughed, his brown hair flopping against his forehead and becoming even more messy than usual. "Come on, Charley, it's fun! Get your arse up here!"

"No way, man," Charley balked, crossing his arms and resting them on the edge of the trampoline. "I've seen more than enough AFV to know that trampolines generally lead to face planting into concrete."

"Oh come on, Charley, you hunt vampires," Amy drawled, "You can't tell me that a trampoline is beyond your physical capabilities."

Peter's bouncing slowed for a moment, and a thoughtful expression stole over his face. "Physical capabilities…" he murmured musingly, "on a trampoline. Hmmm." He started to jump again, saying cheerfully, "I'm going to have to keep that in mind for later." He flashed a lecherous grin down at Charley. The teen looked back up at him dryly. "Ew," he said, very deadpan.

Peter cackled. "You know you love it, Charley. Now come on, get up here!"

Charley sighed and shook his head in exasperation, but obediently vaulted himself up onto the stretched canvas platform. Amy and Peter stopped hopping just long enough for Peter to clasp his hand and Amy to grab hold of his other arm. The two of them hauled Charley to his feet, and Amy slid her hand down his arm to twine their fingers together. Peter started jumping again first, still holding Charley's hand tightly in his, then Charley started to bounce, Amy quickly following suit.

Peter's longer legs made his jumping quickly fall out of synch with his younger friends', and he was forced to let go of Charley's hand. The teen reached out and grabbed Amy's other hand so that the two of them were facing each other, bouncing in unison. Peter started bounding around the edge of the trampoline, circling them and giggling madly. Charley could not help but grin as well and bounced even higher, enjoying the air moving against his face and the weightless feeling in his stomach.

A glint of gold caught his attention, and he found himself watching Amy's hair flying about her face, catching the soft light from the wall sconces and practically glowing. Her face was shining too, a lovely flush from the activity coloring her cheeks. He had not seen her look so carelessly happy in a long time. Not, as best he could remember, since before Jerry. Maybe not even then.

A flash of movement made him turn, and he watch Peter spring past. The man was smiling broadly, looking quite manic and reminding Charley, more than anything else, of Tigger. He was even letting out gleeful little whoops and short laughs now and then that just further cemented the image, his chest heaving with the exertion of jumping around so exuberantly. He too, looked far younger and happier than Charley thought he had ever seen, and it made his heart ache just a little.

"Can either of you do any flips or anything?" Amy asked, her voice broken a little from the force of movement.

Charley shook his head, chuckling. "No way."

Peter hummed contemplatively. "Possibly. Not with all three of us up here; I don't want to crash into anybody. I'll try it later." He flashed another megawatt grin, bouncing next to them. "What about you, princess?"

"I dunno, I've never tried," she said. "I do pretty good with the jumping events for track, but I'm not a gymnast."

"We can try it later. Maybe between the two of us we can teach Charley," Peter suggested.

"Sounds good to me!" Amy replied. She let go of Charley's hands and let herself fall down solidly on her rear, giggling as she rebounded straight back to her feet with little effort. Charley grinned and mimicked her, but did not move his feet back under him, settling down. The force from his friends' jumps jostled and bounced him every time they made contact with the canvas. He folded up his long legs, wrapping his arms around his knees to keep from tripping either of them up, and tipped his head back to watch them fly.

"Oh, come on, Charley," Peter gasped out as he slowed to a stop. A red flush was rising high in his cheeks, hiding the faint freckles. Charley frowned slightly. "You can't come up and then just sit and watch!"

Amy paused. "Wait, that's your worried face again!" she said, "What's wrong, what are you freaking out over now?"

"It's nothing," he said, but stole a glance at Peter. The magician was breathing hard, his decades-long smoking habit baring its fangs. Amy did not seem to notice, and Peter himself seemed more bothered by Charley's inactivity than by his own weakened lungs.

"Well come on, then," he said, panting through his bright-eyed grin. "Get up and get moving!" He turned and started bounding in zigzags across the trampoline.

"Nah, I'm not up for it just now," Charley said.

Peter flopped down next to him, exhaling loudly. "I'm getting kinda knackered myself," he said between deep breaths. Charley hid his concern for the older man behind a rueful grin, reaching out to pull Peter's bangs out of his eyes. The chocolate-colored strands clung to his sweaty forehead, and Peter hummed and leaned into Charley's touch.

Charley looked up at Amy slightly nervously. She was still bouncing lightly in place, smiling down at them. He had not told her about the extent of his and Peter's relationship, but sometimes… some of the things she said, the glances she caught shooting between the two men… he was almost certain she already knew.

Cautiously, Charley reached out to take Peter's hand in his, sending Amy a questioning glance as he did so. She just smiled beatifically, and he felt his heart skip a beat. She nodded pointedly at Peter, and Charley blinked, his eyebrows shooting up.

"I don't mind," she said, her sweet smile turning amused.

Peter's head popped up. "Don't mind what?" he asked.

"Nothing!" she said, leaping over his legs and then around the pair of them.

Peter let go of Charley's hand and rolled up onto his knees, watching Amy inquisitively. "No, what were you saying?" He looked back and forth between her and Charley, who was slowly turning a dull pink color. "Don't mind what?"

Amy's grin turned mischievous now. "Wouldn't you like to know, Master of Dark Forces?" she said cheekily.

Peter caught her around the waist, halting her movements. "Yes," he growled playfully, wrapping both arms around her, "I would like to know!" She shrieked as he practically threw her down onto the canvas next to Charley, collapsing with her practically on top of the two teenagers. She shrieked again before going into a fit of giggles as Peter started to tickle her, long magician's fingers dancing against her sides.

Charley laughed at their roughhousing and scooted out of range of flailing limbs, watching them wrestle around for a moment. Shaking his head, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, listening carefully to their scuffling, the creaking of the trampoline springs, their little cries and mad giggles. He sighed, basking in the silliness of it all.

Without warning, the both of them were suddenly on top of him, grabbing and tickling, and tugging him into the madness. Yelping protests, he scrambled to get away, but the other two would not allow him to escape. Soon the three were tumbling over each other like over-excited puppies, gasping and grabbing at each other and teasing until they were left laying in an exhausted pile.

Amy snuggled up close to Charley's chest, slipping her arms around his waist. He could feel Peter's chest rising and falling rapidly under his head as the magician struggled to catch his breath, and there were strong, wiry arms twined around his shoulders, holding him in place. Charley wrapped one arm around Amy and tucked the other hand up and around Peter's bicep next to his cheek, and just for a while, the three lay there, completely relaxed. It was something they needed just then.

Charley felt Peter's breathing slowly even out, and Amy stretched gently next to him, nestling in closer. Charley glanced down at her tousled hair and stifled a chuckle when he heard a soft snore. Peter was not so restrained, his chest jumping under Charley's head as he snickered. "Wore her out, did we?" he said, his amused voice rumbling through his chest.

Charley hummed his agreement, turning his head to nuzzle against Peter's arm. "She's been working too hard lately."

Peter bumped him. "So've you. What do they teach you kids in school these days?"

"That time is money," Charley murmured.

"Bloody Americans," Peter scoffed, quietly so he wouldn't wake Amy. His hand came up to scruff through Charley's curls. "And you all say us Brits are all uptight."

Charley tipped his head back, pressing against Peter's hand like a cat. Peter's chest rose up in a deep sigh and moved, holding Charley up by the shoulders as he scooted out from under the teen and slid down so they were face to face. Charley laid down on the canvas, a subdued smile on his lips as he watched Peter lay sideways.

"Do you get tired of this, Peter?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of what?" Peter propped his head up on one hand. Charley tried to ignore the tip of Peter's pinky finger tracing that clever mouth. "Acting like a kid? Never!" He grinned cheekily at Charley.

"Not this, specifically, Pete, just… I dunno. Vamp hunting. Hanging out with a couple of stupid teenagers." Charley looked down at Amy cuddled against him, pulling her hair back from her face. "I can't imagine this is how you wanted to spend your life."

"Yeah, 'cos I was spending it so well before I met you," Peter remarked, sounding uncharacteristically mature for the briefest of moments. "Does this have to turn all sappy and deep, mate? Can we just… let it be, just for a while? I'm not drunk enough to be morose right now."

Charley gave him a wry smile. "Let it be… yeah, I guess." Peter leaned in towards him and kissed him on the forehead, then rolled over onto his back next to him. Charley fell quiet, listening as Peter started humming softly. Then, below him, he heard Amy's sleepy voice piping in quietly, sweet and slightly off-key: "Whisper words of wisdom, let it be."

Peter stopped humming abruptly and let out a groan. "Christ. Now I'm going to have bloody Beatles stuck in my head all day."

Amy started snickering into Charley's shoulder, and this time he couldn't stop his own laughter.

* * *

><p>End<p>

GOD WHAT IS THIS SILLY DOMESTIC FLUFF I DON'T EVEN


	6. Gravediggers

**Story 06:** Gravediggers

**Word Count:** 1403

**Disclaimer: **Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie

**Warnings/Rating:** T for vaguely adult themes.

* * *

><p>He opens the door to find the neighbor's kid Charley on his doorstep with a friendly smile on his face. "Mister Danick, hi! Listen, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you happen to have a shovel I could borrow?" the teenager asks him.<p>

"Oh yeah, sure!" he says, stepping out onto his porch and pulling the door shut behind him. "It's in the back shed, let me go dig it out for you."

Charley smiles a bit brighter. "Cool! Thank you so much!"

The teenager follows him through the side yard and across the back to the garden shed. "What do you need it for?" he asks curiously. "You doing some yard work for your mom?" He pulls open the shed and peers inside, looking for whatever corner the damn spade has gotten shoved into.

Charley shrugs and tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Nah, a friend of mine asked for some help with a thing. He doesn't have any at his place and I've only got the one, so…"

"Ah, I gotcha," Mr. Danick says amiably, shuffling through his garden tools. "What sort of thing is it? You need any help?"

"No, thanks, just the shovel'll be fine. We're…ah…taking out a tree."

He casts a glance over his shoulder at Charley. "A tree, huh? You sure you don't want some extra help? I'm free all day today. I'd be more than happy to pitch in."

"Nah, really, it's fine, man, we got it. Thank you, though."

He smiles politely and then his hand lands on the tool in question. "Ah, here we go!" He tugs it free of the jumbled up mess and watches in consternation as several more tools spill out at his feet.

He sighs and passes the shovel over to his younger neighbor, kicking the tools out of the doorway so that he can shut the door.

"Thanks," Charley says, watching him. "I'll get it back to you tomorrow morning."

"Take as long as you need, Charley. Pulling out a tree is no small job." He walks across his back lawn to the side yard again, the teen trailing behind with the shovel slung over one shoulder.

"Well it's a small tree, so… can't take that long," Charley shrugs with his free shoulder.

The teenager follows him back around the house to the driveway, thanking him again before he jogs down to the small pickup stopped in front. Mr. Danick watches his young neighbor stow the spade in the bed. As Charley is moving around to the passenger's side, the unfamiliar man behind the wheel waves a hand at Mr. Danick in thanks. He raises his hand in response, and as soon as Charley's shut his door, the truck pulls away.

* * *

><p>As promised, around the same time the next morning he hears another knock at his door, and he opens it to again find Charley standing on his doorstep. This time, however, he is not alone; a skinny twig of a man in leather and smudged eyeliner is at Charley's back, looking tired and unkempt and faintly amused. Charley doesn't look much better off; he too has dark rings under his eyes (though more from sleep deprivation than makeup, he thinks) and looks rather filthy and rumpled. In fact, he appears to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday, though they are now smeared liberally with mud and some sort of dark fluid that Mr. Danick is hoping isn't blood. He, unlike the tall stranger, doesn't look amused in the least, but uncomfortable and guilty as only a misbehaving teen can look. And in his hand…<p>

"Umm… I'm really sorry, Mr. Danick. We, uhh… we tried to fix it."

Awkwardly, the teen holds out his shovel. The blade of the tool looks like a piece of bread that got chewed on by a tiger; it's slightly crumpled, and there are several small holes and pockmarks in a U shape on the edge. There is no way that could be a bite mark, but it sure looks like it.

"I tried to straighten it back out with a hammer as best I could, but… it's not quite…umm…." Charley trails off and simply holds it out, his face slowly reddening and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Mr. Danick still remembers when Charley was eight and accidentally broke his car window playing baseball in the street. For all he's grown up since then, the mournful puppy eyes are strangely no less effective. He reaches out and takes the shovel from him and examines it closer. Those are definitely bite marks. But that's entirely ridiculous, so he dismisses it.

"Dare I ask how you even managed this?" he asks faintly.

The tall stranger speaks up then, and Mr. Danick is surprised to hear a British accent. "Yeah, sorry. It was my fault, kind of… He put up more of a struggle than we thought he would." Charley elbows him, and he hisses and gives the teen a glare. Mr. Danick blinks and uhhs and umms for a moment, uncertain of how to respond to that.

Charley whispers something fiercely in the British guy's ear, and the taller man mutters back mutinously under his breath. Charley glares and tugs him closer to rant quietly in his ear.

While they are whispering together, Mr. Danick studies the stranger - he thinks that he may have seen him around before, over at the Brewster's house. He has to be at least twice Charley's age; maybe Jane's found a new boyfriend at last? Kind of an eyebrow-raising choice, but still, the poor woman had been alone for far too long. If he had realized she was looking for company, he might have spoken up himself. Oh well. Plenty more fish in the sea, he supposed.

The British guy holds up his hands in surrender and steps back off the porch, and Charley turns back to face him again, looking embarrassed and apologetic. "I'm really sorry. I can pay for a replacement," he says, starting to pull out his wallet, but Mr. Danick waves off Charley's offer to reimburse him for the damage.

"It's fine, Charley. It's…" he pauses, eyeing the damage critically before continuing his previous statement. "It's still usable, so don't worry about it." He smiles, and Charley winces slightly.

"Sorry again," the teenager mutters, and he almost wants to laugh at how contrite the boy is. He's never seen a teenager look so genuinely remorseful about property damage.

"Really, don't worry about it. So, other than that, how'd the tree come out? You have much trouble?" he asks, changing the subject.

Charley looks at him blankly for a moment before his face clears, but before he can say anything the skinny stranger is saying "What tree?"

Charley laughs nervously, reaching back to punch his friend in the chest. "Ha ha, 'what tree' is right. We ripped that sucker down easy… you know, except for busting your shovel, and all."

He blinks, and Charley blinks back, and the brief, awkward moment is punctuated by the British guy lighting up a cigarette.

"Umm…" Charley says, shifting uncomfortably.

Mr. Danick watches the stranger's cigarette glow red and wrinkles his nose. He wants to ask him to please not smoke on his property, but then Charley is clearing his throat and shuffling away from the door. "So… yeah. Thanks again for letting us borrow it. Sorry it's all bent up, and… full of holes."

"You're welcome, and really, don't sweat it, Char-char," he says, smiling blandly.

The British guy snorts, mouthing 'Char-char?' around his cigarette, and Mr. Danick feels the barest stroke of guilt for probably embarrassing Charley in front of his friend, but glances at the mangled shovel and decides this is enough to make them even.

"See you," Charley says.

"Yeah, later. Say hi to your mom for me," he comments as Charley backs away further.

"Sure thing," the teen grins and turns around. The British guy grins cheerfully and waves, and Charley grabs his elbow and pulls him down the driveway to the waiting truck.

Mr. Danick moves back into his house, watching as they pause on the sidewalk just long enough for Charley to let go of the British guy's arm and give him a punch in the chest. His friend laughs and shoves him playfully like he's a kid brother or something, then heads for the driver's seat.

He shuts his door.

* * *

><p>End<p>

So I've pretty much given up on the idea of this not becoming a long-term project. Currently, I have a list of around 30 or so different objects, gadgets, implements, items, props, gizmos, toys, gear, things, and tools to write about, though I'm still only writing when inspiration strikes, so this may never even get that far. This is my no-pressure, guilty-pleasure, silly bits and pieces fic. That said, if you have any tools/weapons/random things you'd like to see, leave a suggestion in a review!


	7. Sonic

**Story 07:** Sonic

**Word Count:** 766

**Warnings/Rating:** T for language

**Disclaimer:** Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie. The sonic screwdriver comes from British Sci-fi series Doctor Who and is © BBC, Victor Pemberton, Nick Robatto, and the Doctor Who producers.

**Author's Note:** Goddammit. I swore to myself I wasn't going to write silly Doctor Who in-jokes for Fright Night fics. As much as I adore Doctor Who and the Tenth Doctor, I try to avoid this kind of thing, because there's only so many times you can make jokes that purely rely on 'haha isn't that funny, DT played Peter AND Ten!' before it stops being funny.

Then my friend showed me his new Sonic Screwdriver blacklight pen, and all that got thrown out the window. Siiiiiiiiigh…

* * *

><p>A wrapped present dropped into his lap, making Charley flinch. He looked up to see Peter, face stretched out into a mad grin, bouncing on his toes.<p>

"Merry Christmas!" he announced with relish.

"Christmas was months ago," Charley remarked, a wry twist to his eyebrow. He sat up straight and pulled his math textbook out from under the package to set it on the little table next to the couch. Spontaneous gifts were not uncommon with Peter, but the magician always tried to make lame excuses for them.

"Well, happy birthday, then," Peter amended, and moved over to the bar to pour himself a drink.

"It's not my birthday either. That's next month." Charley mentions as he examined the package. It was not very large, maybe the size of a pencil case, but it had a solid weight to it. It was beautifully wrapped; the paper was a deep royal blue, and it had real silk ribbons tied around it that cascaded down in elegant curls.

Peter held up his tumbler in toast. "Well, then, no happy day for you. Would you just fucking open it already?" Peter was eying the present eagerly, and Charley grinned. If he took much longer opening the gift, he was sure Peter was going to come over and tear the paper off himself.

Shaking his head, he relented and tugged on the tangle of ribbons, pulling them off the end of the box. Another quick glance revealed Peter trying to hide his excitement behind his glass, and Charley felt a swell of fondness for his older friend.

The paper tore away to reveal a sleek wooden box with silver fixtures. Charley had fiddle with the clasp a moment before it popped open. Nestled inside the box in a bed of velvet, was a slender silver tool with a blue, gem-like light on one end.

"Is this a sonic screwdriver?" Charley asked, looking up at his friend. His smile was incredulous, if delighted, and matched Peter's manic grin.

"Custom-made to be an exact, working replica of the mark six sonic," the magician said. "Go on, pull it out!"

Charley shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all, but he drew out the metal tool. "It's heavier than I thought it would be," he remarked. He pointed it away from the couch and pressed the main button. The blue end lit up, and a high-pitched buzzing filled the air, making Charley's grin turn gleeful.

"That's 'cause it's not just a cheap plastic toy. Now, here's the fun part," Peter leaned over the arm of Charley's chair, pointing at a little ring around the body of the tool. "Here's your settings, twist the ring and it'll change the effects. Setting one is just a simple LED flashlight. Two is a UV flashlight, like the kind they use at crime scenes to find bloodstains. Three, you'll want to be careful with, because it's a UV laser. Don't go shining it in people's eyes or anything… unless they're a vampire. In fact, if you should run into a vampire, go for setting three. Bloodsuckers won't be too fond of that."

Charley laughed in delight. "You seriously got me a working sonic screwdriver. Not just one that lights up and hums, but actually does something useful. Where the hell did you get this?"

Peter shrugged. "Custom-made, I told you. I know a guy. Now, one last thing. You're gonna love this! Unscrew the other end."

Charley turned the tool over, examining the pommel of the tool and finding a hairline break in the metal between two sections. "Right here?" Peter nodded, and he twisted it apart, revealing a hidden compartment. Tucked inside was a set of thin bands of metal with curious, twisting shapes at the ends.

"Standard lock pick set," Peter announced with obvious relish. He took the pieces of the sonic from Charley and stuck one of the picks into a hidden slot on the end, tightening it with another ring near that end. "Look, it gives you a proper handle for the picks and everything."

He reached back into the open compartment and drew out a little white pen. "Also, just for shits and giggles, there's an invisible ink pen in here too. Shows up under the UV flashlight setting." He shrugged, his eyes sparkling with cheeky humor.

Charley could not stop grinning. He shook his head. "Oh my god, I can't decide if you're a genius or an idiot."

Peter made a funny sort of giggle. "Just leave at brilliant then?"

"I dunno if I'd go that far," Charley smirked.

"Oi!"

* * *

><p>End<p>

More silliness. :) I love working on this series. I don't stress over it as much as I do other projects. It makes me feel good.

The Mark VI Sonic Screwdriver is used by the Tenth Doctor. There is some debate about when he started using it. It is widely assumed that the Mark VI appeared after the Doctor accidentally demolishes his old one in "Smith and Jones" (S3 Ep1). Other sources say that the sonic screwdriver prop was not redesigned until after season three, and first appears in "Partners in Crime" (S4 Ep1). It was used by the Tenth Doctor through seasons 4 and the 2009 specials season (and possibly season 3), and briefly by the Eleventh Doctor in his first episode "The Eleventh Hour" (S5 Ep1) before he (again) demolishes it and it is replaced by the Mark VII.

btw, if you were wondering, UV lasers are apparently an actual thing. However, I only did some general research this time instead of pouring over every source I could find for hours like I usually do, so don't count this as factual.


	8. Piano

**Story 08:** Piano

**Summary:** In which Peter and Charley display the proper, and not so proper, use of the standard tools of a vampire hunter. Peter/Charley

**Word Count:** 1,454

**Warnings/Rating:** T for language, implied sexual content and adult themes.

**Disclaimer:** Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie

**Author's Note: ** (peeks out) Oh! Hello there, Gentle Viewers! I know it's been... nearly nine months since you last heard from me. Um...

I bring fic?

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><p>He had known about the piano for some time, of course. After Jerry had demolished their home nearly a year ago, Peter had offered Charley and Jane a place to stay while they worked things out with the insurance company and bought a new place. During that first week staying with Peter, he had been quick to explore the rest of the penthouse. That was when he found the piano, tucked out of the way against the wall in Peter's library.<p>

It was not an beautiful thing, just a small, cheap, upright piano, with old, scratched oak finish and worn keys. The sustain pedal stuck if held down too long, and one of the legs on the matching bench was slightly too short, propped up on a battered copy of _Carmila_.

If it had been a grand, Charley may have just written it off as one of Peter's drunken midnight impulse buys, but the piano was clearly nowhere near that expensive. It was not some professional, quality instrument with glossy black finish and perfect ivory keys. It didn't even match the rest of Peter's sleek modern and pseudo-Victorian styled furniture, looking ridiculously out of place among the built-in bookcases and classy, elegant furnishings.

It didn't look like much, and to be honest, it was not very good quality at all. But it was obviously well-loved and well-cared for. Although Charley had never seen Peter so much as look at the instrument, it was always clean and tuned and ready for play.

Charley himself had not played in years - not since he quit lessons in freshmen year. He hadn't particularly loved piano, or been especially good, but he had some fond memories and was itching to sit down at the bench and give it a try, see if he had retained any of his mediocre to begin with skills. He always held back though, uncertain whether or not Peter would mind him touching the worn instrument. The magician was usually very laid-back about his belongings, even when they were ridiculously expensive or ridiculously antique or both, but this seemed different.

Occasionally, when he was stuck waiting for Peter and bored with homework and video games, Charley would go to the library, perusing the books and stealing glances at the silent instrument. Charley could not help but wonder about the piano, if it was an heirloom, or if it really did have sentimental value, but he never asked Peter about it. It was more fun to speculate, to make up reasons for it, stories about its origin and significance.

Sometimes, he liked to think maybe it belonged to Peter's mother. Perhaps that was why, despite being lovingly tended, no one played the piano now, leaving it a sad, lonely reminder of the music it had once brought forth.

Perhaps, Charley thought, she taught a young Peter to play on that piano before she died. He liked that thought, enjoyed picturing a little brown-haired waif with too-big-for-his-face eyes sitting at the piano bench, maybe swinging his feet since his legs aren't long enough yet to reach the floor. And a slender, sloe-eyed woman, so like her son, sits next to him on the bench, working the pedals with her feet while her elegant hands guide small child's fingers over the keys.

Or, sometimes, he imagined a moody preteen Peter sitting at the bench alone, stalling on his practice, the same way Charley had so often done himself. This Peter would glare at the sheet music, whining and moaning when his mother scolded him. And then he might grudgingly play a few notes, and Peter's mother would smile, and he would feel less bad about it, and play a few more.

Or, with a still-older Peter, he would play a few grudging notes, but there would be no mother there to smile at him anymore, and he would feel even worse and play a few more, melancholy and a bit lost. Or perhaps this Peter didn't know how to play at all, and might stand at the piano all forlorn, long fingers tracing over keys that his mother's hands had so often and so joyously caressed.

Those imagined scenes weren't so sweet or happy, so Charley stowed them away and avoided thinking about them again.

Charley wondered if maybe Peter _did_ play sometimes. Perhaps, he speculates, he never sees or hears Peter play, because he only does so late at night when he can't sleep and the Midori and cigarettes aren't helping. And one would think, with a mood like that, he would play something dark and moody and melancholy. But instead, he plays cheery, bouncy, jazzy, 50's rock-and-roll-esque music until he feels a bit better, then goes to bed, slipping back in beside Charley without his lover ever being the wiser.

The idea of Peter playing dark, moody, melancholy piano music stirred up another scenario, though.

He spent a long time chuckling over the image of Peter hunched over the piano in full Fright Night regalia, mwahaha-ing his way through some dark and sinister piece of music while rain and thunder pound out a rhythm against the windows. For some reason that image wouldn't go away, and seemed to pop up at the most random times, like when Peter was slumped in his favorite chair with some cheap Chinese takeout after a show one night, or when he was driving the pair of them out to a newly discovered vampire nest.

It was absolutely hysterical every time, but the best was when Peter walked in one day from rehearsal, still in full costume and royally pissed off at his stage crew. He was snarling and muttering to himself in dark tones and swooping around the penthouse like an overgrown bat for nearly an hour, still wearing the ridiculous coat and wig. Charley couldn't help it; the image just popped into his head, and he ended up laughing so hard and Peter was already in such a terrible mood that the illusionist very nearly strangled him.

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><p>The first time he heard Peter play... it might have been a dream, Charley wasn't sure. It went as follows:<p>

Charley wakes one night when Peter gets up from bed. Peter's been sleeping really bad all night, and keeps getting up to get a drink, or another cigarette. The other man is keeping Charley awake, but he doesn't mind; he's mostly worried. Charley lays still as the bed shifts under him, waiting silently for his lover to return so he can wrap Peter into one of those hugs that the magician never asks for, even though it's obvious how much he craves the contact, and they can hopefully drift off again. That's the plan, but he doesn't hear Peter head to the bar or to the bathroom. Instead, his footsteps fade away, deeper into the penthouse, and Charley waits only a brief moment before he follows Peter.

As he is approaching the library, he hears a few faint notes and freezes, then realizes it's the piano. He wonders for a moment if he should give Peter some privacy, then edges closer to sit by the foot of the wrought iron staircase and listen. He watches Peter tinker a bit on the keys, smoking a cigarette and wearing nothing more than his skimpy robe. He looks tired and moody and ethereal, and Charley is utterly shocked when Peter starts to play some actual music - something soft and delicate that sounds familiar but Charley doesn't recognize.

He stays and listens to Peter play for a while, pausing only to light up a new cigarette. Charley gets a bit lost in how good Peter is, and he starts to fall asleep where he sits, the music some gentle lullaby soothing away the worry. He almost doesn't notice when Peter stubs out his third cigarette and close up the piano. Then Peter comes over and tugs Charley to his feet, wordlessly wrapping his arm around Charley's shoulders for support (for Charley or himself is unclear), and steering them back to bed. They fall in and snuggle up together and pass out cold for the rest of the night.

When he woke up in the morning, Peter was already at the bar, three shot glasses turned over on the counter in front of him. He looked at Charley with dark smudges under his eyes that were definitely not eyeliner. But he seemed no different than normal, and Charley couldn't be sure.

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><p>End<p>

Soooo explanations. I had several half-complete chapters of Equipment on my computer. Then RP distracted me. I'm terrible, I know. There will eventually be another blurb about the piano, one that will be quite a bit more cheerful than this. But I figure I've kept you waiting long enough. Also, I'll try not to make you guys wait so long for the next part.


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